


Na Patientus Lerno Amosta

by doodle_muse



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-10-09
Updated: 2011-10-13
Packaged: 2017-10-24 10:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/262558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodle_muse/pseuds/doodle_muse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, "Only The Patient Know Love"<br/>Fenris is not sure what to make of Evinder Hawke, but their first encounter leaves him interested enough to try and find out...</p><p>The story of my mHawke/Fenris romance, told through a collection of drabbles from Fenris' point of view. Subject to rating changes later on, random revisions and erratic updates. Also, if anyone wants to suggest a better title or description you're welcome to it. Could also very much use a beta and/or someone to kick me about writing this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Of Meetings

His first impression of Evinder Hawke leads him to believe that the man is naïve, and possibly insane. He’s human, first of all, and Fenris has come to expect nothing less than revulsion from some of them when faced with a pair of pointed ears. Not so with Hawke. He actually went out of his way to offer his aid—to an escaped slave with lyrium-burned skin of all people—presumably out of a mixture of battle-ready overzealousness and genuine altruism. Beneath his fury at Denarius, beneath all of his desperate determination, his actions leave Fenris reeling. Such good-natured willingness to aid a stranger in dire straits must, he reasons, be the result of some form of head injury. Still, he cannot deny that without Hawke’s help he would have been killed, or worse, dragged back to Tevinter like a captive animal. To top it all off, he doesn’t even ask for a reward, but Fenris gives him what coin he has if only to preserve some semblance of normalcy. He must also give the Ferelden credit for receiving it gracefully, without fuss. The flirting, too, is unexpected, though not entirely unwelcome. Despite the way his actions have unbalanced Fenris, he cannot deny that Hawke is handsome, even strikingly so; he has hair the color of summer straw, eyes like the seas of Seheron and is broad as an oak tree. A tumble with a man like that… well. Fenris puts it out of his mind for the time being. Freedom and survival are his foremost priorities, and though Hawke is charming, there’s no way to know if he is safe.  

When Fenris offers his aid in the other man’s ventures, he isn’t sure what he’s getting himself into. It’s a spur of the moment thought, an offer he almost regrets the moment he’s made it, but the light in the other man’s eyes nearly makes him believe he hasn’t just made a colossal mistake. He reasons that regardless of what it might entail, an ‘expedition’ with Hawke would certainly bring him some much-needed coin, not to mention the chance to observe the strange warrior, to understand what motivates him. He surprises himself with the realization that he’s actually looking forward to it. Fenris hasn’t encountered anything that’s honestly captured his interest since… Maker, since before his escape. It’s something to think about, anyway, as lays awake that first long night in his former master’s mansion.


	2. Lost and Found (Teaser)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the _actual_ second chapter. The one I initially uploaded as the second chapter is being bumped over to the third. Hope you enjoy this placeholder teaser while I work on finishing chapter three...

If he’s being honest with himself, Fenris is relieved when Hawke lets him know he won’t be needed for the expedition into the Deep Roads. Once he was finally able to relax enough to sleep he’d begun to have nightmares again. He wakes up trembling, disoriented and with no idea what he’s dreamed save that it was of _pain._ He doesn’t want to think about what it would be like to spend more than a month trapped in close quarters with so many strangers, running on little to no sleep and less patience, but it would almost be worse to admit that kind of weakness to Hawke. Granted, he also isn’t pleased that Hawke’s taking _mages_ in his stead, and two apostates at that. When he tells him in complete earnest that the mages he’s bringing are probably more treacherous than the darkspawn, Hawke just grins and says he’s pretty sure that if his little sister hasn’t killed him yet, she never will. Fenris can only sigh and shake his head; Bethany Hawke seems decent, but the other man, Anders, is a deserter and a coward and also _an abomination,_ and Fenris finds Hawke’s reliance on him infuriating. Even so, Hawke insists that he’s a good man and invaluable to their expedition. Fenris remains unconvinced, but Hawke jokes about slaying a few darkspawn in his name and despite his frustration, he can’t help but chuckle. Evinder Hawke has a warm, deep laugh that comes easily and is always honest. Fenris has discovered that it’s easy to laugh with him. He values that honesty, admires the fact that Hawke’s laugh is never cruel, never forced. His wicked sense of humor flashes in his eyes, too, like sunlight on the sea. In the weeks after his departure with the raiding party, as Hawke called it, Fenris finds himself missing that rich, genuine sound. 

Fenris expects Hawke’s return to Kirkwall to generate some real fanfare. He expects a celebration of some sort at the Hanged Man, expects Lowtown to be buzzing with inflated stories of his newfound wealth and success. The thought that Hawke could be anything _but_ successful never occurred to him— _this_ never occurred to him.


	3. Focus

Fenris has never fought with _anyone_ the way he fights with Hawke.

It isn’t just that their styles of combat are matched, that a strike from one man always rings perfectly true to the other’s defensive parry. It isn’t even that they can read each other’s moves—there are mercenaries and soldiers and common street thugs who can do that. Hawke, as Fenris is discovering with every backalley brawl and full-on battle, is an absolute _master_ of combat.

The thoughts come to him disjointed and unexpected in the whirlwind of battle, like now in the blazing sunshine on the Wounded Coast: Evinder Hawke practically dances through a fight. Each step is calculated, each swing of his massive broadsword perfectly tailored to the tangle of limbs, blades and magic that face his companions in a given moment. With the rest of them, with anyone _but_ Fenris it manifests simply enough; it is an opening to take advantage of, an enemy dispatched at a critical moment, a weak point deftly protected. They do not notice, but Fenris, Fenris who has had to notice _everything_ for years just to stay alive, finds it remarkable. And when they fight together—really together, when they’re out at the front of their little group, pitted against a seething mass of thugs—

In those moments the brute act of wielding a sword becomes _exhilarating._

Fenris was already adept at taking advantage of his surroundings, including other warriors, before he joined Evinder Hawke and the man’s motley crew. But when he’s beside Hawke in the middle of a fight the rest of the world seems to bleed out of existence; everything focuses down to the moment, the edge of the sword, the intake of breath. His hyperawareness allows him to match each strike seamlessly to one of Hawke’s, weight shifting to compliment his stance, interpreting and even anticipating each other’s movements until they are fighting quite literally as one.

These moments do not last. They are only fleeting seconds of perfection, for when he and Hawke are attuned perfectly to one another their enemies never stand for long. Before he realizes it the battle is over, and Fenris is back in the world, breathing heavily and blinking at the sudden lack of motion. A group of would-be slavers lies dead at their feet. Hawke is a few paces to his left, facing away from him, and they turn to one another in the same moment. He’s laughing, grinning like the unapologetic ruffian he is. Fenris matches his in this, too, though it’s anything but calculated. Watching Hawke smile is like seeing the sun after a rainstorm, and his laugh is infectious. “Maker blessed, Fenris, you’ve got to be the best swordsman I’ve ever come across!”

Hawke claps him on the shoulder, still laughing. It would be a jarring action from anyone else, and dangerous—Fenris knows himself well enough to understand his own hair-trigger nature. Months ago Hawke wouldn’t have dared to touch him, but he has slowly, carefully brought himself closer to Fenris, earning his trust little by little. What started with a gentle nudge to his arm over drinks has become something like the easy camaraderie Hawke exhibits toward nearly everyone. It is still utterly baffling.  Fenris smiles and looks away, sheathing his blade to avoid looking at him. “It is—I am at my best when working with another skilled warrior. You should give yourself more credit, Hawke.”

He glances back at the taller man, thinking—he isn’t sure what he’s thinking. What he finds is a softening around Hawke’s blue eyes, a glimmer Fenris isn’t certain of. Not yet. “Well then, we complement each other. It doesn’t mean you’re anything less than brilliant.”

There is another soft, easy laugh between them, because with Hawke the little moments of interaction that he usually has no patience for become unsettlingly easy. Most of the time it worries him, but for the moment Fenris decides he’ll let it be. For the moment the sun is baking into their skin and they’ve decimated the enemy they set out to face. Fenris is genuinely pleased with himself, with his own hard-earned skill—a new sensation, that he can have pride in things that are solely his. He owes such knowledge almost entirely to Hawke.

For just this moment, he allows himself to feel that pleasure and tells himself he’ll worry about it later. Tonight, as he and Hawke and Varric and Isabella trudge back into town, he’ll raise his guards again. Over drinks at the Hanged Man he’ll be evasive and moody. He can already feel those internal walls rising against the outside world as the fevered high of battle drains out of his blood.

Tonight he’ll worry about the way Hawke’s smile makes something stronger, more painful than simple lust curl into his stomach, how the man’s laughter makes him question everything he knows is true. For just this moment, though, Fenris finds it’s easier to smile.


End file.
